


Body Switch

by espetrell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Freaky Friday AU of sorts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:58:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espetrell/pseuds/espetrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire wakes up one morning in the body of Enjolras and vice versa. Although there is a shit-ton of smut potential, there is no smut in this. Just loads of embarrassment and uncomfortable realizations about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Switch

**Author's Note:**

> Augh, I have no idea what the hell is going on in this fic, but I haven't posted anything in ages and I got inspiration and wrote this all in one sitting. I hope you like it!

It was a sad testament to the life Grantaire lived that when he woke up _without_ a hangover, he was pleasantly surprised.

That was the first thought that crossed through Grantaire’s mind when he woke up one lazy Sunday. Eyes half closed, he toppled out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. He certainly didn’t have a hangover headache, but maybe he was still drunk - his balance felt all wrong and it took him a couple tries to find the bathroom door. Entering the bathroom, he felt a weird sense of anti-déjà vu, as if he’d never been in this room before. Grantaire was beginning to suspect that something was very wrong about this situation when he looked up and locked eyes with Enjolras.

Grantaire let out an undignified squeal and leapt backwards. When Enjolras reacted in exactly the same manner, Grantaire understood that he wasn’t actually there. With a dawning horror, he realized that he was standing in front of a mirror. Looking around, he found himself in a bathroom that he did not recognize.

“Either I’m now in the most disturbing lucid dream I’ve ever had,” Grantaire mumbled to himself, his voice far more high pitched than it should be, “Or some crazy shit’s gone down.”

A pinch on his now paler, thinner arm confirming that the first option wasn’t correct, Grantaire was left to figure out what the second one entailed. Thankfully, it didn’t take him too long to adjust to the change in his center of gravity, and he was soon poking around the bathroom and adjacent bedroom without wobbling. Enjolras would never have let him into his bedroom while he was there, so he had no idea what it would look like. Nevertheless, it didn’t take him long to discover some class notes with Enjolras’ name at the top to confirm that it was definitely his room. He was hardly surprised, considering the bare-bones furnishing and overabundance of red everything.

Of course, just when the whole body swap situation seemed not absolutely terrifying, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre’s voice came from the other side of the door, “You coming? I made us some coffee.”

“Um,” Grantaire said, then immediately regretted it. Now he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t in the room. “Gimme a minute.”

“Sure,” Combeferre said, and the sound of receding footsteps confirmed that he was leaving. Grantaire sat down and looks at himself - at Enjolras? It was difficult to really believe that he wasn’t still dreaming, but since he obviously wasn’t he thought he might as well get ready. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, all while trying to avoid eye contact with the mirror and not be attracted to a body that was now his, he left the bedroom.

Grantaire found himself in a hallway that he recognized, and from there he could find the kitchen easily. Combeferre, who was standing by the coffee machine, smiled cheerily at him, but after only a few seconds he frowned.

“Something up, Enjolras?” he asks with concern, “You look a bit freaked out.”

Obviously, Grantaire was not doing an excellent job of hiding his confusion. For a brief moment, he hesitated to answer. Should he confide in Combeferre or pretend that everything was normal? Grantaire sighed in resignation, deciding to risk it.

“Um, well, I kind of am,” Grantaire replied slowly, “I don’t quite know how to explain this to you, but…”

“You can talk to me, Enjolras-“ Combeferre began to say consolingly, but Grantaire couldn’t help blurting out, “But I’m _not_ \--“

“Not what?” Combeferre said, looking a little bit hurt at the interruption.

Grantaire shifted back and forth on his feet, murmuring, “I’m…um…OK, Combeferre, I’m going to tell you something, and it’s going to sound batshit insane, but please believe me?”

“Sure,” said Combeferre in confusion, “But since when have you been saying ‘batshit’?”

“Since Grantaire and Enjolras apparently got body-switched,” said Grantaire. He immediately stared at the floor, avoiding the look of ‘what the fuck’ that he was certain Combeferre was giving him.

“So,” Combeferre said after a long pause, “you’re…?”

“Grantaire, yeah,” Grantaire finished for him. He finally looked up at Combeferre, whose facial expression wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Whatever he was feeling was well-hidden.

“That’s definitely not an Enjolras expression you’re doing right now,” Combeferre said contemplatively, “What do you remember?”

“I woke up this morning and everything felt… off. Then I looked in the mirror and saw…” Grantaire paused to gesture vaguely at himself, then continued, “I have no idea why this might have happened.”

Combeferre’s next question came immediately after Grantaire had finished speaking. “What’s your - well, Enjolras’ mother’s maiden name?”

“What- I don’t know!” Grantaire answered.

“Who was Enjolras’ closest friend in kindergarten?”

“Wasn’t it you?”

“Nope,” Combeferre said, shaking his head, “I transferred to his elementary school in first grade. Enjolras would definitely know that.”

Grantaire gave a sigh of relief and picked up the coffee Combeferre had made him. It was done just the way Enjolras liked it, black and bitter. He took a sip to see if being in Enjolras’ body made it taste any better, but quickly set the cup down.

“I still hate coffee,” he informed Combeferre, who had crossed his arms and was staring at Grantaire thoughtfully.

“I need to ask you a question that only you, Grantaire, would know the answer to,” Combeferre said, “Here it is: does Grantaire have a crush on Enjolras?”

“Of course I do, Combeferre,” Grantaire said sourly, “Everyone but him knows that.”

“Not the other way around?”

“What! No! Of course not!”

“Definitely you, then,” Combeferre said. He lifted his own cup of coffee to his lips to drink, but Grantaire could have sworn that for a second he saw him smile.

“There’s only one thing left to do, then,” Combeferre sighed, setting down his coffee. Grantaire hurried after him as he walked decisively over to the door and picked up his shoes.

“What one thing?” Grantaire asked nervously as he watched Combeferre put on socks, obviously on his way out the door.

“Go to your apartment and see if Enjolras is there,” Combeferre replied, “Enjolras’ shoes and socks are in his room. Go put them on. Luckily for you, he sleeps in his day clothes.”

Grantaire looked down and noticed, for the first time, that he was actually wearing jeans and a slightly oversized t-shirt. The shirt made him do a double take.

“Wait,” Grantaire said, pulling the shirt away from his body to get a better look, “does this shirt actually have ‘Keep Calm and Fuck Shit Up’ written on it?”

“You know what, go change that,” Combeferre answered with a giggle, “No one’s supposed to know about that shirt.” He stopped Grantaire before he could close the bedroom door. “And be quick about it. I don’t want you staring at yourself for a million years.”

“I was not going to do that!” Grantaire said defensively, inwardly angry that Combeferre had apparently read his mind. Half-way through changing into a solid green button-down shirt, it occurred to him that today being what it was, Combeferre might have actually read his mind. When he came out of the bedroom and met up with Combeferre again, he thought as hard as he could, _Say something if you can hear me_. But the weirdness seemed to only be applied to himself, because Combeferre didn’t react at all, only opening the door and descending the stairs to exit the building.

When they got to Grantaire’s building, it occurred to them that they couldn’t get in without being buzzed in or having the keys. The keys to the building were presumably in Grantaire’s backpack in the apartment, so Combeferre pressed on the button for his room. Nothing happened. Combeferre sighed, pulled out his phone, and dialed Grantaire’s number. After a few rings, an uneasy “Hello?” came out of the speaker. It was unmistakably Grantaire’s voice.

“Enjolras? Is that you?”

“ _Yes_ , yes it is,” Enjolras said, relief apparent even through crackly reception. “How do you know about that?”

“I’ve got Grantaire with me,” Combeferre replied, glancing over at him. Grantaire tapped him on the shoulder as a young woman walking a pug came towards them. He recognized her as Nicole, his next-door neighbor, and almost greeted her by name before realizing how weird that would be for her. Instead he asked politely, “Excuse me, can you let us in? We need to see Grantaire, but he’s not opening the door.”

Nicole snorted. “’Course not,” she said, rolling her eyes and opening the door for them, “Heard him through the walls at, like, 3 in the morning, drunkenly singing Taylor Swift songs. Don’t tell him I said that,” she quickly added as Combeferre tried to stifle laughter and Grantaire’s face froze in shock.

“Thank you, miss,” Combeferre said through a giggling fit as he and Grantaire walked into the building and up the stairs. To save face, Grantaire snatched the phone, which was emitting occasional calls of “Combeferre?”

“Um, hey there, Enjolras,” he said, “Can you let us into my house?”

There was a long silence on the other end. Then, finally:

“Is that really what my voice sounds like on the phone?”

“Yup,” Grantaire told him, “And believe me, I am just as weirded out as you are.”

Enjolras huffed in frustration, a familiar Enjolras tic that sounded bizarre coming out of Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire could not suppress a snort of laughter.

“Enjolras, do you not know how to open a door? Let us in!” Combeferre groaned impatiently. Enjolras must have heard him, because a little wail of anxiety came from the phone.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, wait a second!” Enjolras said, and immediately hung up.

“Grantaire, I have to ask you a question,” Combeferre said with a perfect poker face, “Do you sleep naked?”

“What - oh my god, _no_ , no I do _not_ ,” Grantaire babbled in embarrassment, “TMI, Combeferre!”

Enjolras opened the door before Combeferre could respond. He was wearing a tank top and slacks, which had definitely not been what Grantaire had gone to sleep in. If he remembered correctly, it had been an undershirt and boxers, so the discrepancy was understandable. Enjolras’ eyes flicked back and forth from Grantaire to Combeferre, then he groaned. Burying his head in his hands, he mumbled, “This is the weirdest freaking thing _ever._ ”

“Not arguing with that,” Grantaire agreed, stepping into his apartment. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Enjolras - well, _himself_. He’d only ever seen himself from straight on and his own height, besides in photos, so catching a glimpse of the back of his own head from almost a foot higher than usual was not something he ever wanted to do again. At the same time, it was weirdly interesting. Enjolras was staring at him rather blatantly, and Grantaire got a brief glimpse of what he looked like when he was pining over Enjolras during meetings. He hurriedly turned away, focusing his attention on Combeferre, who had reached into the bookbag he had taken with him and pulled out a thermos.

“Enjolras, I brought you your morning coffee,” he said, offering it to Enjolras.

“Oh my god, thank you,” Enjolras replied gratefully, already taking a long sip from the thermos. “Grantaire, you gave me the worst fucking hangover.”

“So what are we going to do with you two?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras was too absorbed in his coffee to answer, so Grantaire shrugged and replied, “Fucked if I know. I mean, how are we going to find out who did this?”

“I think that it’s got to be someone we know,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras quickly lowered his coffee in surprise and asked, “What makes you say that?”

“I mean, it has to be someone who knows you two. The fact that this would affect you two and only you two means…well, you guys are…” Combeferre faltered, searching for the right words. Enjolras narrowed his eyes, obviously as confused as Grantaire.

“It’s ironic?” Enjolras suggested.

“Sure,” Combeferre shrugged, but it didn’t seem as though that had been what he had been trying to say. When no one proposed any sort of solution to the problem, Combeferre turned to Enjolras and asked, “Hey, why didn’t you open the door for ages? What held you up?”

Enjolras turned red (completely disquieting Grantaire) and stammered, “Um, nothing? It just took me a while to get to the door.”

Combeferre’s deadpan eye roll clearly telegraphed how much he was not buying that excuse. “Come on, spill,” he said.

Enjolras turned a deeper red and frowned at him. “You are determined to embarrass me in front of Grantaire,” he accused Combeferre.

“You have to tell us now or we’ll think you did something worse than you actually did.” Combeferre seemed almost smug, actually giggling as Enjolras scowled at him.

“Are you actually five years old?” Enjolras fumed, “Fine. Be like that. Well, I didn’t know what to do when I found myself just, like, as Grantaire. And I realized that…” Enjolras paused, glancing at Grantaire sheepishly. Grantaire had no idea what Enjolras was going to say, but he knew that he wasn’t going to like it. He was proven right when Enjolras continued, “I realized that I was in Grantaire’s bedroom, and he never lets me in there, and I could see a pile of sketchbooks, and I’ve never seen anything you’ve drawn, Grantaire, and, well, I looked.”

Grantaire could not find a proper response to that that didn’t involve loud expletives, but his expression must have made his feelings clear, because Enjolras winced as though Grantaire had yelled. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I know how protective you are of your art, but it was _so good_ , I mean, I could tell-“ Enjolras cut himself off, but Grantaire knew where he was going.

“You could tell exactly _who_ I’d drawn in all of them?” Grantaire suggested uneasily. Combeferre suddenly clapped his hand over his mouth in a flash of understanding and gasped, “ _Oooh!_ ” Enjolras squirmed in awkward restlessness under both their expectant stares and practically whispered, “Me, right?”

“You,” Grantaire confirmed. There was a heavy silence. Enjolras finally continued:

“I was admiring how well you’d drawn me when Combeferre called, and then I had to put the sketchbook back and get a shirt on-“

“WHAT,” Grantaire sputtered, as Enjolras went an even brighter shade of red and Combeferre cried, “I knew it!”

“This is so embarrassing!” Enjolras moaned into his hands.

“So you don’t sleep with all your clothes on! That’s why I asked,” Combeferre said triumphantly.

“But…but,” Grantaire tried to say ‘but I had an undershirt on,’ but couldn’t bring himself to embarrass Enjolras any more than he obviously was. For a brief instant, the possibility that Enjolras had taken the undershirt off to, you know, check himself out flashed through his mind. That _had_ been what Combeferre seemed to have been implying. But the idea that Enjolras was remotely interested in him in that way was ridiculous, so he pushed it away. Combeferre had picked up on his confusion though, and looked back to Enjolras, who had passed embarrassment and was now at indignant fury.

“ _Look_ ,” Enjolras began, crossing his arms, “I saw in the mirror that Grantaire had this tattoo on his shoulder that I’d never seen before because he _always_ wears sleeves, even when it’s super hot out, and I always wondered why, and I was curious, so-“

“Don’t show Combeferre,” Grantaire interrupted sharply, “Don’t tell Combeferre about it. It’s bad enough that you saw it.” The tattoo in question had been a dumb decision from freshman year of college. Actually, Grantaire realized, all of freshman year of college had been one big dumb decision, but the tattoo was the most regrettable. Song lyrics of any kind are a bit cliché, but I Will Follow You Into The Dark? It had seemed accurate at the time and, to be honest, it still did, but it was not the kind of thing he wanted Enjolras seeing. At least he hadn’t done the hearts and the calligraphic letter E that he’d wanted to. That would have been _terrible_.

“It’s not that bad!” Enjolras said defensively, “It’s actually quite nice.”

“Let’s drop it, seeing as you two are drowning in awkwardness right now,” Combeferre said, unable to hide his amusement. Both Enjolras and Grantaire turned on him angrily, but he immediately raised his hands up in a pacifying gesture and said, “Sorry, sorry, let’s just go watch Doctor Who or something and pretend that whatever happened didn’t happen.”

Enjolras and Grantaire looked at each other, decided that continuing this conversation would only be more mortifying, and nodded their assent. But even though they were absorbed in the Doctor’s adventures, Grantaire kept wiggling his long fingers and running his hands through his suddenly wavy hair, then looking over to see Enjolras doing the same thing. Combeferre rolled his eyes at one point and muttered to himself, “Can’t even imagine what would have happened if Grantaire had been alone in Enjolras’ room.” He also pulled out his phone a couple times and tapped out texts to people. His phone pinged halfway through the third consecutive episode, and he jumped up and paused the TV.

“I’ve arranged an impromptu meeting to talk about what happened to you guys, and everyone said they could come,” Combeferre announced to Enjolras and Grantaire.

“Really! When? Where?” Grantaire said excitedly, jumping up and immediately losing balance and falling back down. Enjolras winced sympathetically and said, “I’m not getting up.”

“You don’t have to,” Combeferre reassured him, “They should show up here in a couple minutes.” And they did, Joly and Bossuet first to arrive, then the rest trickling in within the next ten minutes. Finally they were all situated around the couch where Enjolras and Grantaire were sitting next to each other.

“You say that you somehow got body switched, fucking Freaky Friday style?” Bahorel asked again. The question had been repeated over and over for a while and Grantaire was beginning to get sick of it.

“It’s not like we can _explain_ it, but it’s definitely true,” Enjolras sighed in frustration.

“I interrogated them thoroughly, there’s no doubt about it,” Combeferre added.

Suddenly, Courfeyrac sat up straight with an epiphany of some sort and turned to Jehan.

“Jehan, this wouldn’t have anything to do with the dark magic you were telling me about last night in those drunk texts?”

The rest of the group turned to stare at Jehan, silent as they tried to wrap their heads around that statement. Jehan’s silence during the conversation, which they had taken for confusion, suddenly became a sign of guilt.

“ _Well_ …” Jehan started to say, sealing his fate. Everyone immediately began pestering him with questions, which he ignored, instead reaching into his purse and pulling out a worn-out, black book. Enjolras snatched it away from him before he could open it and opened it himself. The text inside was in what looked like runic script, and gave off a faint glow.

“What.” Grantaire said flatly, “How can you even _read_ this, Jehan?”

“I found this book in a weird corner of the used bookstore on West and Second,” Jehan explained, taking his book back and flipping through, “And I’ve known how to read runes since I was a kid, so it was pretty easy for me to figure out that this was a spell book.”

“I can’t believe that I believe you,” Feuilly groaned with an emphatic facepalm.

“Did I hear Courfeyrac say ‘ _drunk_ texts’?” asked Bossuet with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t get a chance to look too closely at the book until last night, after I’d had a drink with him, Marius and Grantaire. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to do anything with it until I’d sobered up, but…” Jehan shrugged, as though he’d simply passed out drunk somewhere he shouldn’t have and not dabbled in black magic.

“What were you even trying to do?” Combeferre asked. Jehan hesitated, and Enjolras muttered, “Combeferre’s asking the tough questions today.”

“Well, most of the spells were the kind you see in every spell book,” Jehan said with complete nonchalance, “Disappearing, pyrokinesis, hair growth, but then there was this one about fostering understanding between two people that Drunk Me thought sounded cool.”

“Wait, ‘fostering understanding’?” Grantaire repeated. Enjolras looked as baffled as he felt, and asked, “What does body switching have to do with ‘fostering understanding’?”

“If I’d said the spell correctly, probably nothing,” Jehan answered. “If you give me one second, I can find the counter-spell and fix you two up.”

“Don’t fuck that up too and turn them into newts or something,” Joly warned, and Jehan laughed merrily as though he’d told a hilarious joke.

“Newts? _Please_ ,” Jehan chuckled. “Aha! Here we go.” And before anyone could object, Jehan started babbling in a language none of them understood. After a couple of seconds, he closed the book and beamed. “There! That should do it!” Grantaire was just about to ask what was supposed to happen when he blacked out.

The next thing he was aware of was being slouched back on the couch, looking up at the concerned faces of his friends.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Grantaire said, sitting upright and dislodging Enjolras, whose head had been leaning onto Grantaire’s shoulder. Enjolras opened his eyes - and they were _his_ eyes now, not Grantaire’s - and bolted upright.

“Oh gosh,” Enjolras moaned, scrubbing _his_ face with _his_ hands, “I finally got rid of that fucking hangover.”

“We’re finally _us_ ,” Grantaire sighed in relief, examining himself to make sure nothing had changed, “I would thank you for fixing us, Jehan, but you were the one that did it in the first place, so no thanks.”

“Well, now that we’ve learned some… _interesting_ things about what Jehan does in his spare time, let’s split. I’ve got places to be,” Feuilly said, stepping away from the crowd around Enjolras and Grantaire and heading towards the door.

“No, no, no,” Enjolras protested, “You can leave, but Jehan has to stay until he explains what he meant by ‘fostering understanding’.”

“Do we even want to know, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked wearily, waving a silent goodbye to his leaving friends. They seemed to be exiting rather hurriedly, as though they didn’t want to be there for whatever Jehan had to say. “I for one have had enough of uncomfortable epiphanies today.”

“Touché,” Enjolras conceded, “but what if Jehan tries to magic us again?”

“Okay, no, do you guys seriously not know what I’m talking about?” Jehan asked, “Like, really?” Grantaire couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t deny that he would try spells on them.

“I mean…” Enjolras glanced at Grantaire apprehensively, “I have an idea, but…”

“Saying it aloud will make everything super awkward?” Grantaire finished for him. Enjolras nodded.

“Maybe my spell did work,” Jehan said with a smirk, “Look at you, finishing each other’s sentences. _Like a newlywed couple_.” He placed an exaggerated amount of stress on the last part of the sentence, and as he looked with raised eyebrows at Enjolras and Grantaire, Enjolras’ resolve broke.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” Enjolras snapped, turning to face Grantaire, “Do you have as hopeless and stupid a crush on me as I do on you?”

“I- _what?_ ” Grantaire sputtered. Enjolras’ face fell, just for a second, and Grantaire moved before he had time to think clearly. He was just as surprised as Enjolras to find himself kissing Enjolras with passion. It was rather difficult to not break his composure and start giggling or happy crying or anything when Enjolras got over his original shock and started kissing him back. Jehan’s delighted fist-pump of triumph didn’t help matters.

“Go away, Jehan,” Enjolras scolded, his laugh only millimeters from Grantaire’s lips. Jehan, seeing he was no longer welcome, bounded up from where he’d been sitting on the floor and swung himself out the door, still giggling. As he slammed the door, both Enjolras and Grantaire heard him yell, “Guys! They did it!” This shout of glee was followed by a rumble of excited talking from all of their other friends, who had apparently not gone any further than right outside the door. Enjolras and Grantaire stared at the door, waiting for the noise to recede.

“I have no idea how to respond to everything that just happened,” said Grantaire quietly.

“Well,” Enjolras said with a positively mischievous grin, “How about we turn this from the weirdest day of our lives to the best day of our lives?”

And as Enjolras tackled Grantaire back onto the couch with the force of his next kiss, Grantaire realized that it already _was_ the best day of his life.


End file.
